Do you know what I discovered recently? On at least four occasions I almost started a war over the course of the past three months.

See, what had happened was . . . I was going along and minding my own business—horrified like all good, sane people in the world that the self-proclaimed Emperor who is strutting around naked trying to become our President was rapidly being perceived as fully clothed and an acceptable POTUS—when I ran into some situations that pissed me off as much as he does.

In the interest of full disclosure, people piss me off all the time! IMHO, I am just one step from becoming a misanthrope.The Universe just better be glad that I am not a witch or a Being entrusted with super powers, because there would be a whole lot of toads hopping around here who had formerly been humans before they encountered my wrath because of something stupid they did that got on my every last nerve on any given day.

A month or two ago, I saw a White woman who was waiting in her car at the entrance of my housing community. As I passed her in my car, I innocently caught her attention, so I smiled as any normal human being would. (I didn’t have any reason not to smile: my bowels were not stopped up as is my normal state of being, and the sun was shining.) I didn’t know her from Adam and she didn’t know me from Eve, but as I came eye to eye with her, instead of a smile, she gave me the finger—just because she apparently had nothing better to do that day but to piss off the Black woman. WTF?

A couple weeks ago, I passed by the biggest Confederate flag draped over a major highway in Virginia—one that leads to the airport and to Washington, DC. This flag of hate is on private property and it is clearly there to cause provocation as its ginormous size and position are obviously intended to be noticed on Mars. I don’t remember that flag being there before the massacre of Black church members in Charleston, SC by the White supremacist who they befriended, and then he repaid their hospitality by gunning them down in their own church. Consequently, the good people of South Carolina led by their governor pulled down the Confederate flag from the State Capitol grounds because it had become a symbol of hate to so many. The fact that the Confederate flag is purposely being flaunted in my face in the state of Virginia on a road that I travel all the time . . . well, pissed I am!

Several days ago, George Zimmerman shamelessly auctioned off the gun he used to kill an unarmed Black child (Trayvon Martin) for $250,000 while he taunted Trayvon’s parents, trolled President Obama, and said he was selling the gun to keep Senator Clinton from becoming President—all the while puffing on a cigar and looking like Jabba the Hut. Why, I oughta . . .

What wouldn’t I personally love to do in order to bring justice to all these situations—from the personal slight to the demonic?

But . . . because I’ve been saved, sanctified, and baptized in the Holy Ghost (plus, God purposely didn’t give me super powers because I couldn’t be trusted), those people did not join the land of the frogs. I just found myself fanaticizing in the middle of the night one evening, when I couldn’t sleep from too much coffee, about what I’d do if I could become a super-hero vigilante. All my imaginations boiled down to waging . . .

Google Meme

For the luddite who returned an FU salute in response to my beatific smile, I imagined that I zapped her arm so that it froze in position with the offending finger on full display and stayed that way for a month (no, six months)—in front of her kids, at church, in the grocery store, at her work, and while she had sex with her husband or whomever. Maybe next time she’d think twice before she shot that finger into the air at a total stranger that hadn’t done anything to her.

Of the Neanderthal Confederate flag in-your-face-rebel, I imagined creating my own drone that would firebomb that flag every night—never missing a night—until he or she ran out of money to replace it or just got tired of being terrorized by me and replaced it with a massive sign that said: “We surrender! The war of Northern aggression is over, and the South got its ass kicked!”

Of the heartless, disgusting excuse for a human being that is George Zimmerman, I luxuriated in the revenge fantasy of . . . oh,never mind. I’ll keep that one to myself because ignoramus George is such a litigious little stupid fellow he would not be able to tell that what I write is satire/fantasy and he would come after me with one of his many guns claiming he was “standing his ground.” But let’s just say my vigilante fantasy about George Zimmerman involved a river in the Amazon Basin filled with flesh-eating piranhas and Georgie-Porgie going for an afternoon swim.

But in the midst of my 3 a.m. revelry, an old Negro spiritual popped into my head:

“I’m gonna lay down my burdens,

Down by the river side,

Down by the river side,

Down by the river side,

I’m gonna lay down my burdens,

Down by the riverside,

And study war no more!”

As that old song floated through my brain and down into my heart, I suddenly realized that I was “studying war” to fight the hurtful, unjust, and spiteful burdens of my tormentors. I know that more often than not, humans are called upon to lay down their burdens of hurt and let go of the right to “study war” in retaliation to wrongs committed or there would never be any peace in any corner of the Earth because somebody is always actin’ the fool. If the truth be told, warring is hell, and it takes the better woman or man to forgive and let go than it does to strike out in anger and retaliation. I remembered the verse that Peter, Paul, and Mary added to this spiritual when they co-opted it to be used as an anti-war protest song during the Vietnam War:

“I’m gonna lay down that atom bomb

Down by the riverside . . .

And study war no more.”

But I am also not a fool, and I know that the Book of Ecclesiastes is right about the human condition when it says: “There is a time for peace and a time for war,” because if brave men and women didn’t fight against tyranny and monsters, who will always be with us, peace would never have a chance to reign and people would never be able to prosper. I just think that the human heart chooses to “study war” more often than it needs to for reasons that are less than righteous, and in the end thousands of young men and women needlessly go to their graves.

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund Politicalcartoons.com

This Memorial Day, I’d like to encourage us all to forget about the cartoon of an election that is giving sane people everywhere massive heartburn issues and take the time to remember those people who have given their lives, their limbs, and sometimes their sanity when our country declared that there was “a time for war” to keep us safe. I do not judge their sacrifice or their call to duty.I owe them a deep debt of gratitude. But I would also like to remember those ideologies that we need to cling to that makes us great as a country when we decide to courageously “study war no more”: love of peace, quest for stiff gun controls, equality for all races, religions, and genders, and grace and tolerance for our fellowman.

May God bless us all this Memorial Day, and may God bless these United States of America.

“I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality… I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.”—Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die.”—Herbert Hoover

“Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.”—John F. Kennedy

“Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one.”—John Lennon

“I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell.”—William Tecumseh Sherman

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Do you know what I discovered after returning home from visiting my grandson this weekend?The Donald waltzed up to Capitol Hill and the Speaker of the House tucked his tail between his legs, bowed down and affixed his lily-white lips firmly against The Donald’s orange ass. America, we are so screwed!

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

Everyone keeps telling me (a Born-again Christian but not “that kind of Christian”) there is no way in Heaven or Hell The Donald can occupy the White House in November—I just need to have faith. They tell me we Americans will come to our senses and stop this xenophobe, racist, serial adulterer, misogynist, liar, Ayn Rand disciple, and mammon-worshiper who sits at the right hand of Satan before he gets too close to the throne because the Holy Rolling Christian Evangelicals will never throw their weight behind Donald Trump’s candidacy. Well, the Barbarian is at the White House gate and he’s being carried in on a gilded perch shouldered by Christian Televangelists (Jerry Falwell, Jr., Pat Roberson, Jan Couch of TBN, Paula White, Gloria and Kenneth Copeland, Clarence McClendon—a Black preacher who should know better—and the slick-haired Joel Osteen just to name a few). The raised royal sedan chair is being led by The Donald’s lead house Negro, Dr. Ben Carson (a.k.a., another “Born-again Christian” who is trying to ram his form of religion down the throats of everyone who doesn’t think like him). (Insert picture of “The Scream” by Expressionist artist Edvard Munch.)

Cartoon used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

When I read about the meeting between Paul Ryan and Donald Trump which should have been titled: “The Day Paul Ryan Sold His Soul to the Devil,” I was so upset that I fell into somewhat of a depression (Mr. Ryan considers himself to be a fine, upstanding Christian as most of the GOP does, claiming to be the standard bearer of family values and all). While in my comatose state, I dreamt that I was in a Judge Judy-style courtroom where my alter ego was the judge (The Dalai Mama), a conglomerate of Trump’s ex-wives, pissed-off feminists, ripped-off Trump University students, the poor, assorted Mexicans, a bunch of Muslims, and decent human beings in general were the Plaintiff, and the GOP was the Defendant. As with all my dreams and fantasies, I won the battle for truth. (If only life were that easy…)

Cartoon used by permission: RJ Matson Roll Call||Cagle Cartoons

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JUDGE DALAI MAMA’S NO-NONSENSE COURT

ANNOUNCER: [Disembodied voice heard offstage] “Entering through the door on the left of Judge Dalai Mama’s Court is the Plaintiff ‘Truth’ who is suing the Defendant ‘GOP’ for breach of contract. Entering through the door on the right is the Defendant, the GOP.”

BAILIFF: [Big burly Black guy in police uniform] “ALL RISE for the trial of Truth vs. the GOP!! The Court of the No-nonsense Judicial Circuit is now in session. The Honorable Judge Dalai Mama is presiding.”

BAILIFF: [Swearing in the Plaintiff and the Defendant] “Do you promise the testimony you are about to give will faithfully and truthfully conform to the facts of this trial? Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

PLAINTIFF AND DEFENDANT: “I do!”

BAILIFF: “You may proceed.”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “Befo’ I call on either one of y’all to testify, you both better know that I don’t take no crap—you hear me? My court ain’t called the “no-nonsense” court for nothin’. You mess with me, and I won’t hesitate to knock you upside yo’ head. Capisce?”

PLAINTIFF AND DEFENDANT: “Yes, Your Honor.”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “All right—now that we all on the same page—why don’t we start with the Plaintiff. Ms. Truth, it says here that you are suin’ the GOP for breach of contract. Why? It says here in my court brief that you two used to be lovers.”

PLAINTIFF: “’Used to be’ are the operative words, your honor. This jerk has played me for the last time. I’ve put up with his xenophobia, I’ve put up with his stinginess, I’ve put up with his lyin’, and I’ve put up with his duplicity, but I’m drawin’ the line with his latest punk-ass stunt.”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “Ms. Truth, the term ‘punk ass’ is not a legal term. I would caution you to stick to courtroom language, Girlfriend.”

PLAINTIFF: “Sorry, Your Honor. He’s just got me so upset, I can barely breathe. I just found out that he has urged the Republicans in Congress to support that pig Donald Trump in spite of all the disparaging ways The Donald has treated me. I’ve tried to reason with the Defendant in the past, but yesterday was the final straw.”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “What happened yesterday?”

PLAINTIFF: “The Defendant rolled over and took it up the ass from The Donald when Paul Ryan and Donald Trump had that sham meeting on Capitol Hill after Paul Ryan intimated that he’d never support that jerk.”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: [Judge’s gavel thunders throughout the courtroom as the judge pounds in rapid-fire succession against her desk.) “Hey, hey, hey—courtroom decorum Ms. Truth, or you’ll be fined for bein’ in contempt. Get it together, Baby!”

PLAINTIFF: “Yes, Your Honor . . . sorry.What I’m sayin’ is that yesterday was bad, but today was the pièce de résistance. I woke up to the news that the Secret Service (and rightfully so) is investigating Trump’s long-time butler of 30 years/Mar-a-Lago tour guide ‘historian’ (Anthony Senecal) because he has recently published quite a few Facebook screeds about wanting President Obama (and his wife) to be executed. Referring to the President as ‘our pus headed president’ and ‘kenyan (sic) fraud’–saying he should be ‘hung for treason,’ as well as stating, that the President ‘should have been taken out by our military and shot as an enemy agent in his first term.’ He went on to say that Muslims should be ‘shot at the shore’ instead of being allowed to come into our country and for added security, our President ‘should be hung from the portico of the White Mosque.’ And you know what? The Defendant—the GOP—hasn’t said a mumbling word of chastisement to a man who may soon be a finger-click away from our nuclear bombs about the fact that he has tolerated such an asshole in his employment for over thirty years. (You can’t convince me that someone who has worked that intimately with The Donald hasn’t shared his horrid views with ‘The King,’ as Mr. Senecal affectionately refers to him.) This butler’s apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and just undergirds what a bastard Donald Trump is underneath all that Republican smooshing—you can bet your sweet ass on that truth! Why in God’s name doesn’t the Defendant distance himself from this Neanderthal?”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: [Furious banging of the gavel is heard] “Order . . . order in the court! Ms. Truth, this is your last warning about court decorum. Don’t make me come down there and smack you upside your head. I think you need to stand down and check yo’self. (Sweet Jesus, I’m gonna need myself a stiff drink befo’ this trial is over.) Now, will the Defendant, Mr. GOP, please state your rebuttal?

DEFENDANT: “Absolutely, Your Honor! I have a prepared statement to read in my defense which should put this case to bed in my favor. May I proceed?”

DEFENDANT: “No problem, Your Honor. My Republican brand stands for Truth (with a capital ‘T’): family values, Christian virtues, intelligent leadership, and compassionate conservatism. After all, my party is the one that freed the slaves. Why would I jeopardize my reputation supporting a candidate who didn’t represent those values? And to prove my point, I would like to point out to the Court that our Republican nominee for the Presidency is supported by prominent Christian televangelists and Christian University presidents (Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, Jr. for example) and prosperity preachers who think God wants us all to be rich, just like Mr. Trump. In fact, these ‘Name-it-and-claim-it’ preachers deem to call The Donald their friend. They simply adore him. All that gold that surrounds him, the private planes that transport him, and the beauty queens that have adorned his arms through the years are just what the prosperity preachers believe to be the righteous man’s due. Not only do these pillars of our Christian churches support Mr. Trump but many of them have gone on record to proclaim his ‘Born-again status.’”

Cartoon used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “Is that so, Mr. GOP?”

DEFENDANT: “Yes, indeed, Your Honor. Why one of the top female prosperity-doctrine preachers, Ms. Paula White, has preached to a crowd of thousands that Mr. Trump is ‘saved’ and should be our next president. Ms. White has gone on record to say that she gave him a Bible signed by none other than the great Rev. Billy Graham. She says that the Bible even included a note with a ‘prophetic word’ over Mr. Trump—although, I’ve never seen it, so I’ll just have to take her word for it. On top of all this glowing support, Ms. Paula White is a leader of a predominantly Black congregation. Your Honor, don’t you think if Mr. Trump were such a racist xenophobe as Ms. Truth suggests, that a multi-cultural congregation would not so readily pay for Ms. White to own a condo in Trump Tower as well as support her shopping and plastic surgery addiction?”

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “Well, like my mama used to say: ‘a fool and his money is easily parted.’ But go on.”

PLAINTIFF: “Seriously?! Your Honor, are you listening to him? These Christian televangelists are cut from the same cloth as Trump—they are like two peas in a pod. What about his failed Trump University that is being sued by ex-students—poor people—who went into credit-card debt as much as $35,000 because Trump allegedly promised he could ‘turn anyone into a successful real estate investor, including you. . ?’ It was a scam—a bunch of real estate workshops in hotel ballrooms! Oh my God, doesn’t any other Christian besides me see this subterranean creature for what he truly is? Oh, and what about his crude chats with shock-jock Howard Stern in the late 90s when the two of them would critique women’s looks (and I quote), “…Her boob job is terrible. They look like two light posts coming out of a body.” And this: “A person who is very flat-chested is very hard to be a 10.” He has boasted for years about all the women chasing him and his stud-like sex life, not to mention his love ‘em and dump ‘em thrice married sorry behind.

The man is crude, rude, and should be stewed! But instead, he’s being justified and heralded by leading Christian Evangelists. And what about the $85,000 Trump paid for four full-page, explosive ads in NYC newspapers to demand the death penalty against five Black and Latino teenagers who were wrongfully convicted for the brutal assault, rape, and sodomy of a White twenty-eight year old investment banker? The Huffington Post said he called them “rapists, thugs, killers, wild criminals, muggers, murderers, crazed misfits?” The only problem was: THE 14-16 YEAR OLDS TURNED OUT TO BE NOT QUILTY AND THEIR CONFESSIONS HAD BEEN COERSED!! Many years later, another man who was a serial rapist and murderer serving a life sentence in prison fully confessed to committing the crime all by himself. He knew details about the horrid event that only the investigators could have known, and his DNA matched the crime scene DNA, whereas it never matched the accused teens. Marry that confession with a record of rampant investigative negligence and you have reasonable doubt, as you well know Your Honor. The teens were exonerated after spending five to thirteen years in prison and given millions in a settlement from NYC a decade after their false imprisonment which The Donald hysterically railed against. If Trump had had his racist, hot-headed way in 1989, five teenagers—children (angels by no means and hooligans for sure, but still children)—would have been turned into a line in the Billie Holiday song, ‘Strange Fruit’: ‘Blood on the leaves and blood at the root… strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.’ And here’s the rub: Trump never, ever apologized, and still publicly questions the Central Park Five’s proven innocence, because the man is incapable of admitting he is wrong. [1] [2] [3]

If Donald Trump had the power and the money in the late 80s to call for the annihilation of the lives of five Black and Latino children who were falsely accused of a crime, what does the GOP think he’ll do in a hot-headed moment against any number of American minorities, an Arab nation, Mexico, or China?”

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

JUDGE DALAI MAMA: “Hum, hum . . . I think I’ve heard enough to make a rulin’. Will the Plaintiff and the Defendant please stand? It is clear to me that the Defendant, Mr. GOP, has turned his back on Truth and pretty much sold his soul to the Devil as it pertains to the justification of that dog, Donald Trump. Mr. GOP has swallowed the wormwood, sorry-ass nature of Mr. Trump—hook, line, and sinker—for the supposed sake of unity to try and ‘unblacken’ the White House in November (as Larry Wilmore would say). Win at all cost seems to be the GOP’s motto. Well, Mr. GOP, I’m here to tell you that God don’t like ugly, and I’ve got a feelin’ that your ass is gonna be grass come November, ‘cause the Lawd will not be mocked—you hear me? Therefore, I, Judge Dalai Mama, rules in favor of the Plaintiff—Truth! After all this slime, Girlfriend needs a hot bath and a drink. This court is hereby dismissed!”

Cartoon used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

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ELEANOR’S “SELAH” (“AHA” MOMENT) ABOUT THE GOP AND DONALD TRUMP

I am discovering that I am trying not to panic, but Lord have mercy, this shit just got real with Trump and Paul Ryan’s sham meeting with all but four or five members of the Republicans in Congress throwing their support behind The Donald. The Speaker of the House who looked like a deer caught in the glare of headlights must have used the word “encouraging” at least half a dozen times when referencing his meeting with Trump, which is like saying, “My lunch with Beelzebub was very ‘encouraging’ as he yanked me down into Hell!”

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not in the tank for Hillary. I will vote for her, but I will be holding my nose the entire time just on the premise that we don’t need another Bush/Clinton in the White House—two families have held the presidency for twenty years! (How is it that in a country of 323,814,755 people as of May 16th the best we could find to run for the highest office in the land were a clown car of jabronis on the Republican side, one grumpy old man on the Democrat side promising free shit to kids with no way to pay for it (no kid wants to ever grow up and pay for anything), and two qualified candidates (Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton) from two washed-out presidential dynasties? If we manage to get through November without the unholy, racist, pig Donald Trump becoming president (ARE YOU LISTENING, GOD; IT’S ME, ELEANOR?), then we need to start beating the bushes to find men and women of integrity who will come out of hiding by 2020 and lead our great nation in a manner which it deserves because my heart can’t take much more of this. Moving to Canada won’t be far enough to get away from the madness that will ensue. I might just have to exit stage left of this planet and go hang out with my God. Just sayin’.

Cartoon used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune||Cagle Cartoons

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SOBERING QUOTES ABOUT TRUTH, THE GOP, AND DONALD TRUMP

“And I can teach you, kinsman, how to shame the devil—by telling the truth! ‘Tell the truth and shame the devil,’ as the old saying goes. If you do have the power to call him up, then bring him here. And I’ll swear I have the power to shame him into leaving. Oh, for goodness sake, tell the truth and shame the devil!”—Character of Henry ‘Hotspur’ Percy from Henry IV by Shakespeare

“In the 1990s, when another Clinton was president, conservatives became fond of the phrase “character counts.” This was a way of scoring points against Bill Clinton for his sexual predations and rhetorical misdirections, as well as a statement that Americans expected honor and dignity in the Oval Office. I’ll never forget the family friend, circa 1998, who wondered how she was supposed to explain the meaning of a euphemism for oral sex to her then 10-year-old daughter. . . Endorsing Mr. Trump means permanently laying to rest any claim conservatives might ever again make on the character issue.”—Brett Stevens, the Wall Street Journal from article: “Hillary the Conservative Hope”

Cartoon used by permission Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle||Cagle Cartoons

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Do you know what I discovered this week? Being a mother doesn’t stop when your kid turns 18, and being a grandmother is full of overwhelming joys but also sleepless nights of worry—even if one of your “grandkids” is a dog. My grand dog (Wednesday Addams) went blind in one day this week—literally. (When my younger daughter went to work one morning, Wednesday Addams kissed her goodbye, and when she returned at the end of a very long day, my grand dog ran to the door to greet her, sailed right past her mommy, and ran smack dab into a wall—almost knocking herself unconscious). The Vet’s verdict: SARDS—Sudden acquired retinal degeneration disease. My daughter was destroyed. (Now keepin’ it 100—I don’t even like dogs. I tolerate this dog, but my thirty-two-year-old daughter would give her life for this creature who has been with her since her college days, so because she was broken-hearted over this sudden tragedy, I burst into tears right along with her. I absolutely lost it—for days!) When your kids hurt—no matter how old they are—as a parent, you hurt!

GRANDDOG, WEDNESDAY ADDAMS, Photo credit: C. Tomczyk

As we are quickly approaching Mother’s Day, the grand dog incident caused me to meditate on my role as mother and grandmother. In the wee small hours of the morning, when no one is there to know whether you’re telling the truth or not except God, I had to admit that—upon review—I have been a much better grandmother than a mother. Oh, at first blush, the kids will tell you that I was an awesome mother (because they are now in their thirties and have had a taste of how rough life can be, and thus they think I walk on water to have accomplished what I did with them on so little time and so little money). But if you ply them with a few drinks, both my girls would tell you that they have no idea who this woman is that is the grandmother to their son and nephew. They would tell you that I have been replaced by an alien, because this patient, gentle, sympathetic, long-suffering, delightful woman who goes by the name of “Mema” as a grandmother is not the same woman who showed up to be their mother when they entered the world.

CARTOON USED WITH PERMISSION: Peter Broelman, Australia

Case in point: When my seven-year-old grandson comes to my house, if he cleans up his mess, I am ecstatic, but if he doesn’t—gets distracted for some reason or another—I’ll clean up the mess and think nothing of it because I’d much rather he have the time to hang out with his grandfather and me doing fun things than me having to nag him about my OCD need for an orderly house. But when my kids were little, a clean house was next to godliness. There were color-coordinated crates for every type of toy: two brown crates for building blocks, one green crate for Legos, one pink crate for Barbies, and a miniature trunk with a lid for dress-up clothes and doll outfits. And if they didn’t pick up their toys after playing with them, then there would be a mandatory “time-out” for that toy and its accoutrement the next time around. I’ll never forget overhearing a conversation between my four-year-old daughter and her sister who was three years old at the time (they are 21 months apart in age), as I was coming down the hallway to check on the clean-up progress. The younger daughter (the three year old) was hysterical about the mandate to clean up her toys. To hear her wailing, you would have thought she had lost her mother.

4-YR-OLD: Well . . . you better get over it, and just do it. I been livin’ with dis woman all my life, and she ain’t never gonna change.

GOOGLE MEME: We Know Memes

Then there was the time when my grandson visited our new home in our retirement town for the first time. We had our children during our “salad days” which meant we barely had a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of. But in our retirement years we have been blessed with the finances to purchase a gorgeous home, and the first thing we did was outfit a wonderful room for our grandson which bears a hand-painted sign with his name on it. Coming from a small apartment in NYC, he was more than thrilled to have his own room—he was overjoyed. So when he heard a knock on the door while in the middle of some intricate Lego project when he was just five years old—assuming he knew who it was—he responded with extreme agitation to the knocker.

GRANDPA: Okay, Buddy. It’s Grandpa. I thought you might want to go to the park with me and try the toy airplane we bought. We can go later.

5YR-OLD-GRANDSON: [horrified beyond belief and immediately yanking open his bedroom door] GRANDPA, GRANDPA, I’M SOOOOOO SORRY. I HAD NO IDEA IT WAS YOU—I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMEBODY ELSE. I WOULD HAVE NEVER SAID THAT TO YOU—NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS!

(This is so true: Said grandson absolutely adores his grandpa and had never spoken disrespectfully to him before then, nor has he ever done so. But I digress.) At this point in the story, his mother (my older daughter) comes barreling down the hall like a bat out of Hell, screaming: “AND WHO DID YOU THINK IT WAS? HUH? ME—YOUR MOTHER?! THE ONE WHO STILL BEARS THE STRETCH MARKS FROM BRINGING YOU INTO THIS WORLD THAT SOUNDS LIKE YOU SOON WANT TO DEPART FROM BECAUSE CLEARLY YOU HAVE LOST YOUR MIND?!”

GRANDSON: Ah, yes . . . I mean no . . . I mean oh, man . . .

GOOGLE MEME

At which point, Super Mema jumped in to save the poor boy’s hide by pulling my daughter aside so that we could have a butt-saving conversation out of my grandson’s earshot. “Now, now, darling,” I said very soto voce—trying to bring calm to the situation. “There is no concrete evidence that my precious grandson thought he was speaking to you. And even if he was, he didn’t say, ‘Go fuck yourself, Mother!’ I whispered. He said, ‘mind your own beeswax’—completely innocuous!” And like a flash, my older daughter turned on me, one hand on hip and the other with finger wagging in my face as she addressed my slippage in the parenting department while her eyes rolled around in her head.

OUTRAGED DAUGHTER: Mother, you are truly incorrigible! This child can do no wrong in your eyes! Do you know what type of ingrate I’m going to have on my hands when he turns sixteen years old, if I let him get away with this type of sassiness at five years old? Who are you and what did you do with my mother? Do you remember the time I royally sassed you, and you popped me upside my head when I was a teenager? Do you remember how I got all full of myself and threatened to call the child-abuse hot line? And what did you say, alien-woman-who-claims-to-be-my-mother? Huh?

ME: I said something like, “EXCELLENT! Let me dial the number for you, so that the Po-Po will come right away and take me to jail, because at least I will get a good night’s sleep without having to put up with mouthy teenagers. I haven’t slept through the night since you and your sister got your periods and decided to become ‘all that and a bag of chips.’ I could use a good rest from tussling with ‘little women’…” And then I started talking to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost (or whoever else would listen): “Can you believe this child? Oh, Lawd have mercy! Jesus, help me—help me Jesus, ‘cause this baby you saw fit to bless me with sure sounds like she wants to leave this world mouth first and return to you! Good God, Almighty!”

OUTRAGED DAUGHTER: Uh . . . huh!I rest my case alien mother!

At which point, my five-year-old grandson sensed this to be the perfect timing for him to escape and join his grandfather for a trip to the park, but as he passed me he took full advantage of the situation and whispered to me: “While we’re on the subject, Mema, you have no idea what this woman does to me when you’re not around.” To which my daughter replied, as she chased after her son as he giggled hysterically while fleeing down the steps and out the door: “I HEARD THAT, MISTER!”

GOOGLE MEME

***

MEMA’S SELAH (“AHA MOMENT”) ABOUT BEING A MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER

I am discovering that I have a confession to make: I love being a grandmother, but I did not enjoy being a mother when the kids were—well, kids! Don’t get me wrong. I loved (and still do love) my girls—I would have given my life for them in a heartbeat (and still would), but I did not have the patience, the finances, the help, or the support from an extended community that I needed as a mother to give them a Sesame Street life—in other words, a less stressed-out, laid-back life. (I lived in a warring foreign country when they were first born for several years, and then we moved to a racist, hostile environment in the American south as an interracial family with no relatives, no decent friends, and limited finances during my kids’ formative years—the latter part of which I worked outside the home.) It took all of my energy and wits just to keep us all strong, thriving, alive, and afloat as an interracial family. There was no time to give “space” for shenanigans, “coloring outside the lines,” “silliness,” or “messiness” in general. I deeply regret that lack in my mothering journey.

I think the reason I love being a grandmother is because I now have the time, the peace, the graceful living environment, the finances, and the patience to sit and listen—to play. I no longer have the stress of trying to stay alive and guarding against haters. Also, I only have one grandchild. I actually know people who have 14 and counting. I honestly don’t think I’d do well with that many grandkids—I’m just not that kind of woman. I can hang with a couple more if they should come along, but I still have to maintain some modicum of order and sanity—that’s just how I roll. Which is why I am going to hop on a plane to NYC this weekend and take my grandson to his first Broadway play, to which I can hear both my daughters’ screaming: “HEY, WHAT’S UP WITH THAT? YOU NEVER TOOK US TO SEE A BROADWAY SHOW!” To which I will reply: “Well, if I wasn’t so busy feeding and clothing you and trying to keep you alive, maybe I could have taken you to Broadway and NYC. Besides, didn’t the truck-and-bus shows count as “Broadway cred” that wandered through town every now and then?”

LITTLE GRANDSON DOIN’ HIS SUPERHERO THING/PHOTO CREDIT: E. TOMCZYK

***

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES ON MOTHERHOOD AND GRANDMOTHERHOOD

“A mother becomes a true grandmother the day she stops noticing the terrible things her children do because she is so enchanted with the wonderful things her grandchildren do.”—Lois Wyse

“I have been grateful for the influence of my grandmother and my grandfather in my life. I remember my grandmother as a queenly woman. My father could be stern, and my grandparents would remind him that we were just boys.”—James E. Faust

“When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.”—Sophia Loren

WANT TO READ THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS? Monsters’ Throwdown and Fleeing Oz are both on sale at Amazon (Paperback and Kindle).

CARTOON USED WITH PERMISSION: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Do you know what I discovered today? I am back home, which may come as a surprise to my readers because you thought I was home all along during my much-announced spring break. Well . . . you see, what had happened was . . .

I started off the week with great intentions: to commune with nature while I pulled together my garden for the season. What could be better? But if you’ve been following my blog for any amount of time, you will know that in my new retirement abode, I am at war with the moles, the voles, and the deer. Everyone told me when I moved here that I would lose that war with these creatures (my home backs up to a nature preserve), but I refused to believe them. And then the pollen swirled and landed—like an apocalyptic yellow blanket causing me to sneeze my head off every time I poked my Allegra-saturated noggin out of the house to spray some animal-go-away spray at a pesky creature. Everything was covered in yellow dust, making me want to personally ring Mother Nature’s neck. So several days after I announced in my blog that I was going to spend my entire spring break working outside in my yard, I threw away the garden shovel, the Mole-b-gone, the allergy meds, and the Deer FU spray and surrendered my land to its original inhabitants and their allergy dust. (Have you ever noticed that squirrels, birds, moles, voles, and deer don’t sneeze even when they are knee deep in pollen as they devour your newly planted mole and deer resistant shrubs which have cost you hundreds of dollars? What’s up with that?)

Cartoon Used by Permission: Dave Granlund, Politicalcartoons.com

I came indoors and tried to work on my third book, but I soon lost interest because I couldn’t see through the film of allergy tears streaming down my cheeks, puffy frog-eyes, and allergy snot dripping from my nose like a broken faucet. (Apparently, pollen can still get into a hermetically sealed house—who knew?) Blowing my nose every third word became a chore, so I figured that maybe I needed a rest from both my garden and my writing and turned to that great intellectual stimulation: Facebook.

Let me make one thing clear: I hate Facebook. So you know that I have to be pretty desperate if I start trolling that colossal waste of time. Since FB changed its format by adding “like” options, I have to confess that I don’t have a clue how to use them or even if I want to use them, but I thought I’d give them that good ol’ college try and figure the system out. After fiddling around with a few of Facebook’s “like” options on some of my friends’ pages, I got bored as hell and wanted to kill myself. (How do people spend day in and day out cruising FB pages without going insane?) I swear I left 30% of my brain cells on the Altar of Zuckerman as I tried to “connect” with “friends” and saw an eternity’s worth of pictures of “the most delicious meal I’ve eaten—ever,” the greatest vacation, the most adorable babies crawling, walking, pooping, or gurgling like every other baby in the world who has done so since the beginning of time. AUUUGH!

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

And don’t even get me started on the news. When my news feed began to alternate between that demon Trump’s Neanderthal antics . . .

. . . or whether my vagina was going to be a matter of inspection by the toilet police the next time I walked into a North Carolina restroom, I almost lost it.

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune

This was supposed to be a time of rest for me but I was so restless—so fucking bored and agitated that I was beginning to get on even Jesus’ nerves! I mean I realized the problem was me. My equilibrium was off. The politics, the madness, and the chaos had sucked out my sense of well-being, and I didn’t know how to get it back until my sweet man (WW—“White and Wonderful”) came to the rescue. (WW always comes to the rescue when I’m like this—frazzled, overwrought, and not much good to myself or anybody else.)

WW: Hey Cutie, I know what you need—a change of scenery to foster a different mindset without any access to news or moles.

ME: I’m intrigued. Tell me more.

WW: What has seven islands, monkeys, lizards, diamonds, and lots of sea and sand? Is your passport up-to-date? Can you say rum punch three times fast without tripping up your tongue?

ME: Okay, I give up. What?

WW: A 12-day cruise to Aruba, Curacao, St. Lucia, St. Kitts, Barbados, Antigua, and St. Maarten.

ME:SHUT UP!?! When do we leave?

WW: As soon as you can pack. BUT . . . you have to promise me one thing: you cannot watch any news for twelve days, and you must swear that you will retool your mind to live more in the moment.

ME: Really, Yoda, How do I do that?

WW: I have no idea, but we’re not getting any younger and life as we know it is slip-sliding away at a depressingly fast rate. How about focusing on being mindful in the moment instead of stressing out about what is going to happen tomorrow or worrying about things you can’t control? In fact, I bought you a few thousand books to consider as traveling/reading companions: Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World, Mindfulness for Beginners: Reclaiming the Present Moment and Your Life, Mindfulness in Plain English, Little Book of Mindfulness: 10 minutes a day to less stress, more peace, Mindfulness: Mindfulness For Anxiety Relief—How To Use Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction Meditation Exercises…, Mindfulness in Everyday Life: How to Stop Worries and Stress and Enjoy Peace and Happiness with Mindfulness and…, Wherever You Go, There You Are…

ME: Okay, okay, I get your point. I’ll go away with you and try and get my sanity back. IN THE MEANTIME I’M GOING ON A CRUISE!

CELEBRITY ECLIPSE, Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

Along with my bathing suit, my Gucci shades, my sea-sickness bands, and the latest Adele album, I packed Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Wherever You Go There You Are, and I began to forget all about Trump and Cruz, moles and voles, ISIS and chaos, and a Republican Party gone completely mad. I became one with my surroundings and the world became my oyster.

IGGY THE IGUANA: Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

It didn’t take me long to get into my new state of mindfulness, and boy did my world open up when I started paying attention to what was in front of me and not what I feared would happen tomorrow or mourn over what had happened yesterday. I met a little dude called Iggy the Iguana in Curacao. He told me how much he loved a mosquito-rum cocktail and how much he hated owls and snakes. How the world would be a much better place without either of those predators, thank you very much. I tended to agree with him about the snakes.

Willemstads Harbour Curacao: Photo Credit by Mtmelendez at the English language, Wikipedia

Curacao took my breath away, and I considered moving there for a nano-second because they have no moles and voles. I swear it looked like what I had imagined heaven to be, but WW said he liked his mole/vole retirement space back in Virginia, and maybe I was taking this mindfulness thing a little too seriously.

WATER BOARD BUSINESSMAN: Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

I became friends with a camera-shy, water-board businessman who tried to sell me two turtles for $20 (“han crafted by me own hans, darlin’, right out of volcanic rock”), which I later discovered were made in China, sold on all seven islands, and were probably worth seventy-five cents apiece. But in my new “zen state” I thought his scam was hysterical as I exclaimed to my husband: “I’m being cheated by one of the locals—isn’t life simply delightful” (said no one ever!).

GROS AND PETIT PITONS IN ST. LUCIA: Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

I sailed past the Gros and Petit Pitons in a sailboat in total silence, and I was humbled by the realization of the power of what a volcanic eruption can do. According to Wikipedia, “at least 148 plant species have been recorded on Gros Piton, 97 on Petit Piton and the intervening ridge, among them eight rare tree species. The Gros Piton is home to some 27 bird species . . . three indigenous rodents, one opossum, three bats, eight reptiles and three amphibians.”

CATAMARAN #5: Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

I lost count of the catamarans I went on—chillin’ with my rum punch while WW went snorkeling. IMP. NOTE: I don’t do water—anyone who knows me knows this is one diva who does not immerse herself in wet stuff. In fact, one of the captains of one of the myriad catamarans I sailed on “playfully” threatened to throw me overboard to join my husband, whether I wanted to snorkel or not. Without missing a beat, I emerged from my “mindfulness” mindset and announced to all who had ears to hear (including the angels in heaven and the fishes in the sea): “Young man, if you toss me overboard, the next thing you will be doing is singing with Jesus because I will personally kill you.” He bowed in homage to me, gave me two more rum punches, and I returned to my zen-like state of “being in tune with where I was.”

ST. MAARTEN: Photo Credit by E. Tomczyk

The Diva took a tempting stroll down diamond row in St. Maartens and almost got hooked on a cute little bracelet that was simply “to die for,” but at the last moment remembered that she had enough bling to last a lifetime, and that greed was unbecoming to her new spiritual state of just “being.”

MARVIN GAY, THE VERVENT MONKEY AND WW: Photo by E. Tomczyk

Ran into Marvin Gay in St. Kitts. He told me that he was a Vervent monkey, and he and his peeps rule that island. He said his ancestors came to St. Kitts on the slave ships from Africa in the 1600s as pets to the French. Says his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather helped lead a Vervent monkey revolt against their owners during the local wars in 1666 between the British and the French, and that his ancestors escaped their cages and roamed the island in gangs raiding crops and causing horrendous mischief. He said if I didn’t believe him, I should check out the diary of one Father Labat, a French Priest. I told him I would do as he instructed if he promised not to shit on my husband’s head (he looked like he was contemplating just such an action). When I got back to the ship, I checked out the following essay from the library which sported the following quote about Marvin Gay’s relatives:

“Their [Vervent] frolics are mischievous, their thefts dexterous. They are subtle enemies and false friends. When pursued, they fly to the mountain and laugh at their pursuers, as they are little ashamed of a defeat as a French admiral or general. In short, they are the torment of planters; they destroy whole cane pieces in a few hours and come in troops from the mountain, whose trees afford them shelter. No methods to get the better of them has yet been found out.”—Professor Frank Ervin or a member of his team at the Behavioral Science Foundation located at Estridge Estate on St. Kitts in response to a request from the St. Christopher Heritage Society

MARVIN, THE VERVENT MONKEY: Photo by E. Tomczyk

Marvin kept his word, and I maintained my mindfulness—amazed what one can learn when one is mindful. (Who knew that iguanas and monkeys could communicate in English?)

Photo Credit: E. Tomczyk, My Man and Me doin’ the “Mindful” thing

***

ELEANOR’S SELAH (“AHA MOMENT”) ABOUT MINDFULNESS

I am discovering that according to Jon Kabat-Zinn the lack of mindfulness “…scavenges to fill time, conspires with my mind to keep me unconscious and lulled in a fog of numbness to a certain extent. It has me unavailable to others, missing the play of the light on the table, the smells in the room, the energies of the moment. Stillness, insight, and wisdom arise only when we can settle into being complete in this moment, without having to seek or hold on to or reject anything.”

All joking aside, I am trying to turn over a new leaf. I think this mindfulness thing is what I need at this stage. If at almost 68, I can’t settle down and smell the island flowers then I don’t know when I’m going to do so because at this point of my journey, this life is as good as it gets for me. Of course, maybe mindfulness is just learning how to pay attention—period.

***

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES ABOUT MINDFULNESS

“Mindfulness is about love and loving life. When you cultivate this love, it gives you clarity and compassion for life, and your actions happen in accordance with that.”— Jon Kabat-Zinn

“Mindfulness helps us freeze the frame so that we can become aware of our sensations and experiences as they are, without the distorting coloration of socially conditioned responses or habitual reactions.”—Henepola Gunaratana

“When you have children, you realize how easy it is to not see them fully, and perhaps miss all those early years. If you are not careful, you can be too absorbed in work, and they will be only too happy to tell you about it later. Being a parent is one of greatest mindfulness practices of all.”—Jon Kabat-Zinn

WANT TO READ THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS?Monsters’ Throwdown and Fleeing Oz are both on sale at Amazon (hardcopy and Kindle).

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Do you know what I discovered this week? It is the Easter season, which means I need to take a short break—give or take a week or two—to plant my garden. I do this every year. During a two-week break in the spring, I use that time to abstain from blogging, get off the Internet, don’t read or listen to the news, and take an assessment of my sorry-ass soul by communing with nature and my God. I allow myself to be rejuvenated from all the negativity in our world so that I can emerge from my bucolic surrounding after my short staycation as a much calmer person who is ready to continue to fight the good fight as a voice of reason and goodwill.

Well, the other day, the daffodils were out, the crocuses were sprouting, and several blue jays flew past my breakfast window just as I was about to post a note on my blog that says, “See you in two weeks, Pumpkins” when I received a “ping” on my phone which signaled an urgent alert:

“ATTENTION ALL PEOPLE WITH HEARTS—

THIS JUST IN—THE EASTER BUNNY IS DEAD!”

de-motivational-posters.com

I was in a state of shock! Was this an April fool’s joke? Had the Easter Bunny pissed off Donald Trump, and his followers did away with all the bunnies? (Come to think of it, we used to have scores of rabbits who lived in my flower beds, but I haven’t seen any of them in months. I thought I had inadvertently chased the rabbits away with the sonic radar system I had installed to scare off my hated enemies, the moles. Now I am not so sure.)

As I sat down for a brief pause after sodding the holes in my lawn left by the nasty-ass squirrels who hate my guts (that’s an entirely different story), I fell asleep on the deck and dreamed I was listening to a radio interview between the last bunny on Earth and Larry King. That great octogenarian interviewer who could get to the truth about anything from even the nuttiest individuals and situations.

Larry King Interviewing Sarah Palin and Mark Sanford

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

LARRY:Tonight, an Easter Bunny exclusive—the rabbit who many thought to be dead and gone! We’ll take you inside Mr. Bunny’s palatial hiding place where—breaking his long silence—we’ll discuss the rumors of his vanishing, the nature of his mental health, and the hopelessness our planet has been left with by his unexplained absence. We’ll talk about the sorry state of the Earth, his universal hand in promoting Easter, and if he feels that his activities threw “shade” on the Messiah’s life and gift to the world. What stories can he tell about his association with the Christ? A rare emotional hour coming up next on Larry King Live.

**COMMERCIAL PLACE CARD FOR CADBURY CRÈME EGGS**

LARRY: It’s a great pleasure to welcome the Easter Bunny to the show tonight. He has been the representative of Easter to children since the 1700s in Germany, and made his debut in America in the great state of Pennsylvania as “Osterhase” in the 1800s by local immigrants from the Palatinate region of Germany—according to Patrick Donmoyer of the Pennsylvania German Heritage Center at Kutztown University. Great to have you on the show Easter Bunny. Let’s get right down to the nitty-gritty tonight. Where have you been? Everyone thought you were dead.

EASTER BUNNY: Larry, it is an honor to be here with you tonight. I think you’re about as old as I am, and you’re still kicking. It’s hard to get rid of us old geezers.

LARRY: Well, I think you’re ahead of me by a couple hundred years, although on some days, I feel as if I might have been born in the 1800s! These bones aren’t getting any younger, that’s for sure. Anyway, there is a strong rumor going around that you died. I believe the National Enquirer first broke the story, but obviously you are very much alive. I was stunned when your people reached out to my people to refute the rumor about your much reported death. What’s going on, Bunny?

EASTER BUNNY: What’s going on, Larry, is that I have retired and gone into seclusion. I can’t take it anymore. There is nowhere safe on the Earth to go about my business of spreading the good news of hope and redemption without being besieged by mayhem, chaos, and murder. From here to there, from sea to shining sea, it is all about warring, hatred, and killing. I am saddened to the core. I had to retire before I died of a broken heart.

Cartoon used by permission: Marian Kemensky Slovakia

LARRY: But I saw footage of you as road-kill on CNN earlier this month. Was that all a ruse?

EASTER BUNNY: I’m ashamed to say it, but I staged my own death, Larry, with the help of some of my friends. It was a complete hoax. I needed an exit plan, and that seemed to be the best one.

LARRY: Well, the obvious question is “why?” We need all the hope and levity we can get in this world, Mr. Bunny. Besides, how am I going to live without my Cadbury Crème Egg fix?

EASTER BUNNY: Old Man, you’ll just have to suck it up and get over it. Besides, didn’t you have a major heart attack awhile back? You’re not supposed to be eating those chocolate diabetic bombs anyway. My point is that I no longer have the courage or the strength to try to bring levity and joy to the world. It all seems to be a lost cause. Besides, the job doesn’t have the same pizazz that it used to have anymore.

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, Politicalcartoons.com

LARRY: Really, how so?

EASTER BUNNY: First of all, it used to be a fabulous job. I could call my own hours, and every day at the office was casual Friday. I was respected in all the lands my little fat legs could hop to, and on top of it all, the mission was pretty awesome: “Rebirth and renewal is yours for the asking because spring has sprung!” Children loved me by the way. Never met a kid I didn’t like. If it was just the kids, I’d never stop, but many of their parents are freakin’ insane. All these adults are so full of hate and malice. I can’t take it anymore, Larry—I just can’t take it! I’m disillusioned, worn out, and pissed off. This is not the job I signed up for, so that is the reason I faked my own death. Let’s see how the world gets along without Mr. Easter Bunny on the scene. So there!

Cartoon used by permission: Bob Englehart, PoliticalCartoons.com

LARRY: Well, it seems to me that Easter has never been about you, Easter Bunny—your job, your colored eggs, your treats, or your cotton-tailed disillusionment. I mean I’m Jewish, but I realize that Easter is a Christian holiday celebrating the hope, the redemption, and the renewal given by the Messiah that you think has already come. The Jewish tradition has us still waiting on our Messiah, but that is another discussion for another day. (Wouldn’t it be ironic if our Messiah and your Messiah turned out to be the same dude, but we got our calendars all screwed up as to his arrival and departure times?)

Anyway, I do understand Easter through the eyes of “Pesach” (what you Christians call “Passover”), because it is the celebration of the liberation by God of my people via Moses from slavery in Egypt. From my understanding of the New Testament, Jesus came to Earth so that mankind would see firsthand what it was like to witness the selfless characteristics of God (love, joy, peace, grace, and mercy) embodied in human form so that mankind would change their ways and start treating each other as they were created to do. Your Messiah gave his life so that you would be liberated from your sins (hate, murder, rape, meanness, greed, cruelty—the list of chaos is endless), and I don’t recall any record of rabbits, jelly beans, and Cadbury eggs being in the tomb where the Christ arose on the third day to manifest that hope of liberation and renewal—kind of like Moses getting my peeps out of the bondage of slavery and crossing through the Red Sea to a new life of freedom. I don’t think it is a coincidence that Passover and Easter are celebrated around the same time every year.

You’re just a messenger, Little Dude—pointing to the hope of the world. So what do you have to say for yourself, Easter Bunny? Seems like you’re needed now more than ever.

Cartoon used by permission: Parker, Florida Today

EASTER BUNNY: Oh! I never thought of it that way. But how can I be responsible for that knowledge? I’m just an animal with two long ears, long hind legs, and a short white bushy tail. I never knew him—this Jesus. I’m just a working schmuck trying to make a living. All I was told to do was announce spring, help dye eggs, and keep the jelly beans coming until children were comatose from sugar. This other stuff you’ve been telling me is way beyond my pay grade.

LARRY: Ignorance of the truth is no excuse, Easter Bunny. If you don’t know what to do—do something! We are all responsible for doing what we have to do to make the world a better place.

EASTER BUNNY: Yeah, I get it. And who knows, maybe I’ll be able to strike a blow for justice and peace. I travel here, there, and everywhere with my arsenal of eggs, beans, and marshmallow peeps. The bad guys would never see me coming. I cross international borders—maybe I could become a spy. My God, maybe I could help win the war on terrorism! HOLY JELLY BEANS, LARRY—I’M COMIN’ OUT OF RETIREMENT!!

Cartoon used by permission Marian Kemensky, Slovakia

LARRY: I guess you are, Little Rabbit, I guess you are! God speed, and don’t forget to leave some Cadbury crème eggs with my assistant.

Well, you heard it here folks: Bunny Rabbit is alive and well, and returning to his job. He is not dead! If you see him out and about, give him a big hug and let him know what a good job he’s doing reminding us that there is more to life than terrorists, poverty, hatred, war, and Donald Trump. There is hope for the human race and embracing the Easter festivities with our children helps lighten the weariness and meaningless aspects of life.

Cartoon used by permission: Parker, Florida Today

***

ELEANOR’S EASTER “SELAH” (“AHA”) MOMENT

I am discovering what I rediscover every spring when I go on retreat to renew my perspective—that I have hope for our world because there is a God who created us all—and loves us dearly. I am discovering that “love wins”—whether it is Christ’s love for a screwed up world, or my love for my neighbor. I know that there are those who “claim” to know God and claim to be doing his bidding who instigate nothing but bigotry, pain, and murder, but they are only posers and will not last forever and will not triumph in the end—haters never do. In the meantime, I do not lose hope for our world because of the vision that Easter proclaims to me:

CHRIST IS RISEN—HE IS RISEN, INDEED!

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, Politicalcartoons.com

See you in two weeks, my friends. Don’t lose the faith; keep on keepin’ on; never give up trying to make the world a better place, and every other cliché I can remember.

HAPPY EASTER, HAPPY PESACH, AND PEACE AND GOOD WILL TO ALL!

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund Politicalcartoons.com

***

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES ABOUT EASTER

“A man who was completely innocent, offered himself as a sacrifice for the good of others, including his enemies, and became the ransom of the world. It was a perfect act.”—Mahatma Gandhi

“Easter is meant to be a symbol of hope, renewal, and new life.”—Janine di Giovanni

“Easter tells us of something children can’t understand, because it addresses things they don’t yet have to know: the weariness of life, the pain, the profound loneliness and hovering fear of meaninglessness.”—Frederica Mathewes-Green

“I really do believe that God is love, one of deep affection and grace and forgiveness and inspiration.”—William P. Young

WANT TO READ THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS? Monsters’ Throwdown and Fleeing Oz are both on sale at Amazon (Paperback and Kindle).

***

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Do you know what I discovered about famous people dying and their subsequent media coverage? Just recently Harper Lee, Pat Conroy, Nancy Reagan, and Angela “Big Ang” Raiola (breakout star of Mob Wives) died, and within hours—sometimes minutes—everything from multi-paragraphs to multi-pages of obituaries were published. It was freaky. I learned that obituaries of famous people are written long before their deaths if they are terminally ill, old, or habitually self-destructive. That way, when they do kick the bucket, the Media can be Johnny-on-the-spot and publish their obits in a timely manner.

When I awoke this morning and read the news about Donald Trump’s significant wins on Super Tuesday, I could hear the death knell for the GOP, and I knew what I had to do: write an obit for the Republican Party whose inevitable demise is on its way, if it hasn’t happened already. I thought it would be rather entertaining to “very loosely” base the GOP’s obituary on bits and pieces of the actual one that was used for Abraham Lincoln as taken from page 1 of The New York Times, April 16, 1865. (I couldn’t resist the irony.)

Cartoon used by permission: Daryl Cagle, CagleCartoons.com

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GOP—ONCE KNOWN AS “THE GRAND OLD PARTY”—IS OFFICIALLY DEAD!

Reality Show Actor Donald Trump Believed to be the Assassin

By Blogger, Eleanor L. Tomczyk

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Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

It is now ascertained with reasonable certainty that multiple assassins (led by a gang leader) were engaged in this horrible crime against the Grand Old Party. The leader—an actor named Donald Trump—was the one who engaged in the final kill shot against the GOP, and the other companions of his (Republican Congress, Tea Party, Birthers, Mitch McConnell, Citizens United, Koch Brothers, Fox News, Right-Wing Radio), are being hunted down for their complicity in the Elephant’s demise even as this obit goes to press.Vivid descriptions of Trump’s accomplices (racism, xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia, greed, and violence) have been posted all over the nation’s media outlets so that they can hardly escape unnoticed. It appears from intelligence collected from the GOP’s murder scene that the assassination has been a long time coming, but it previously stalled out because it was believed that the Republican Party had an adult—Jeb Bush—who they thought would carry the day, and thus extend its life a little longer. But Mr. Trump slaughtered Bush in a high profile shoot-out earlier in the year, and then rode on to Florida to commit the dastardly deed against the Grand Old Party itself.

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

The official notice of the death of the GOP was given by the Media this morning to the American public, and the memorial arrangements were announced:

First—the arrangements for the funeral of the late GOP were referred to the Republican Establishment which is in a state of disbelief and is trying to broker a convention in Cleveland to resurrect the Elephant from the dead. All the Bible-believing Evangelicals have been called upon to fast and pray for this miracle.

Second—The Great Latino Hope (Marco Rubio) went into hiding with his tail between his legs after being mortally wounded by a stray bullet from The Donald in his assassination attempt against the GOP. Rubio was last seen sobbing his heart out in the Florida Everglades as he lamented:

“My whole life I’ve been told being humble is a virtue, and now being humble is a weakness and being vain and self-absorbed is somehow a virtue. My whole life I’ve been told no matter how you feel about someone, you respect everyone because we are all children of the same God—and now being respectful to one another is considered political correctness.”

AT WHICH POINT THE ALLIGATORS WERE HEARD RESPONDING IN UNISON: “AND WHY WASN’T THAT SAME COURTESY EXTENDED FROM YOU TO PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE? KARMA IS A BITCH ‘LITTLE RUBIO.’”

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, Politicalcartoons.com

In the meantime, Nancy Reagan, the wife of the “god” the GOP worships, was high-fiving her fortune teller in the Great Beyond for escaping the Earth just in time to be with her man before she had to witness the assassination of the Republican Party by Donald Trump and the Duck Dynasty set.

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

The assassin left behind at the crime scene a brilliant display of the rancor and violence he would use to pull the Party together now that he had accomplished his goal of obliterating the GOP. When asked by CNN host Chris Cuomo what Mr. Trump would do if he ended up in Cleveland a few delegates shy of 1,237 and the party leaders demand a contested GOP convention, he gave a bone-chilling answer:

“I think you’d have riots.”

“[I’m] representing many millions of people: If you disenfranchise those people, and you say, ‘I’m sorry, you’re 100 votes short’…I think you’d have problems like you’ve never seen before. I think bad things would happen.”

Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

The GOP’s body was removed from Florida and has been embalmed. The Grand Old Party of Lincoln was wrapped in the American flag, and it has continued across the country for proper viewing by the American people at various primaries and will arrive in Cleveland in July where it will be put to rest. It will be America’s last chance to see the remains of a once proud political group who helped Abraham Lincoln free the slaves.

Flags over the Republican Establishment hearts are at half-mast. Scarcely any business is being transacted anywhere either on private or public account.

The bells are tolling mournfully. All the Republicans are in the deepest gloom and sadness. Strong men weep in the streets. China is using Donald Trump’s antics and vulgarity as a warning to its citizens about the dangers of democracy. The grief is wide-spread and deep—in strange contrast to the joy that was so greatly manifested around the world when Barack Hussein Obama won the Presidential election—not once—but twice.

This is indeed a day of gloom. RIP GOP!

Cartoon used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton-Times Tribune

***

ELEANOR’S “SELAH” (“AHA”) MOMENT ABOUT THE GOP’S ASSASINATION

I am discovering that as I meditate on the very real aspect that Donald Trump may be our Republican nominee for the President of the United States, I understand that this will probably destroy the GOP as we’ve come to know it—shatter it into a million pieces. Maybe that will be a good thing. I don’t rejoice over this. I used to be a Republican, and I think our country needs a two (or more) party system to keep us in balance. But I don’t feel very sorry for my Republican friends because they brought this on themselves. When Trump spearheaded the birther movement against President Obama (knowing full well, that every charge was a lie), the Republican Establishment “winked” and thought it was a hoot. When Mitch McConnell declared that he would lead the Republican Congress in a charge to make Obama a one-term President and obstruct him at every turn, the rest of the GOP cheered and rushed in to help. When the jerk, Joe Wilson, screamed at President Obama in the midst of a State of the Union address, “You lie!” the rest of the Republicans applauded the consummate disrespect of a sitting president. In the midst of all this, they got into bed with big business, big money, and special interests—leaving the middle class behind to slide into poverty, and the poor to slide into Hell. Now they wonder why so many people are so pissed at them. So angry that 67% of Republicans are willing to lend their support to an assassin.

To all my dear sisters and brothers in the Republican Party who refused to speak up against the sins of the GOP all those years ago, up to today’s obstructionism by Congress against the President’s pick for the next Supreme Court Judge—I give you Donald Trump. Karma is truly a bitch!

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

(This week’s post is about the results of Super Tuesday amongst the Republican candidates and is very loosely based on the Frankenstein horror story by ‎Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, written in 1818. My humble apologies to Mrs. Shelley for upstaging her monster who almost looks tame compared to mine.)

Do you know what I discovered when I awoke on the morning after Super Tuesday? I had had a dream. A dream so filled with horror that I doubt I’ll be able to shake its effects for a very, very long time. It was a dream that filled my heart with terror and my mind with unshakeable images. But wait: lest you think I exaggerate, let me recount the tale, and you can judge for yourself.

***

I dreamt that I was a captain of a mighty ship. My name was Captain Jane Walton of the Clear Vision Shipping Company. My ship was the Pure of Heart and this was its maiden voyage which had set sail for the Port of True North. We had been at sea for many months when we encountered a rather large being on a battered lifeboat that had seen better days. Both lifeboat and being seemed to be on their last legs, so to speak, and were sinking fast.

I ordered my crew to rescue the creature, and after much exertion they managed to bring the mutilated lump aboard. It was hard to tell what its original form was at first. Man, woman, animal, alien? Who could tell because it was broken and shattered into what seemed like a million pieces. As the form unfolded on the deck, I realized it was an elephant—albeit barely recognizable due to its lacerations and multiple bruises. The elephant was incoherent and could barely stand up.

Cartoon used by permission: Daryl Cagle, CagleCartoons.com

“Creature, what is your name,” I asked? “And what brings you to such a desperate moment in such a watery grave?”

“My name is Dr. GOP Frankenstein,” replied the discombobulated creature as he gasped for air. “I was beaten and pulverized by a creature of my own making, and he set me adrift to die at sea. Had you not come along dear Captain, all would have been lost.”

I could tell that the elephant had once been a stately fellow, but little of its original grandeur remained. As my brain recalled a long forgotten history of a pachyderm that had represented a people who were part of Abraham Lincoln’s Party—the emancipator of the slaves—I grew sad at how far it had fallen.

As I nursed Dr. Frankenstein back to health, he began to share the incredible story of his downfall with me. The doctor told me he was born in 1854—birthed in opposition to the Kansas–Nebraska Act which was trying to extend slavery into the territories. He was a party that in its heyday had been supported by everyone from White Protestants, to factory workers, to farmers, to abolitionists, and African-Americans. But somewhere along the way, he had lost his vision and went in search of the secret to encompassing total greed and ultimate power and discovered that what he sought existed on the island of Ayn Rand-NRA. Their nation’s motto is: “I’ve got mine, too bad you don’t have yours—it sure sucks for you! Now get out of my face before I blow your brains out with my ‘2nd Amendment Right-to-Carry AK-15.’”

Convinced that he had enough knowledge to construct a super mini-me to take over the land of White House and gain control of the country’s citizens, Dr. GOP Frankenstein created a being out of different body parts: a self-righteous form of Christianity, obstructionism, greed, racism, self-centeredness, crudeness, sexism, and the poorly educated. The organs of the creature were anti-Muslim, pro-guns, anti-taxation, anti-Obama, anti-abortion, anti-immigration, and anti-climate control.

Unlike his namesake in the story of old (Dr. “Victor” Frankenstein), GOP was at first elated with his creation.When Frankenstein Trump fled to the land of Birther and relentlessly accused the first Black President of the United States of not being born in America, his creator didn’t stop the monster’s onslaught. In fact, Dr. Frankenstein smugly smiled to himself and gleefully cheered behind closed doors because he had made a vow to destroy Citizen Barack Obama and make him a one-term President. When Frankenstein Trump threatened to ban all Muslims from entering the country and building a giant wall to the heavens to keep out all Mexicans, Dr. GOP cheered—immigration of the brown people south of the border solved—check! When the monster seduced the White Evangelicals, White disgruntled men, White supremacists, and the poorly educated, forcing Dr. Frankenstein to create another monster and turn them into the Bride of Frankenstein, Dr. GOP facilitated the making of a monster bride and pretended it was for the saving of America Land. This was good, GOP thought—this was power—this was the way to the land of White House! The more inept and corrupt the monster became, the more his creator looked away until it was too late.

February 26, 2016

Cartoon used by permission: Adam Zyglis, The Buffalo News

On March 1st—known as Super Tuesday—Frankenstein Trump escaped from his creator and devoured some of Dr. GOP’s favorite sons. Frankenstein Trump had turned into a raging, blustering, crude, no-nothing bully. But the monster had become “HUUUGE” and strong, and try as he could, Dr. Frankenstein was unable to reign in his misguided creature. For the first time the doctor was afraid—very afraid. By the time I rescued him that fateful night, Dr. GOP was beside himself. He said he had “tried everything to stop his creation’s momentum, but nothing was working.” It was looking like—unless a miracle happened—that Frankenstein Trump would be President Trump of the greatest country on Earth in November, and Dr. GOP would splinter into a million pieces—never to be heard from again. The process had already begun.

What was not known until Dr. Frankenstein confessed it to me is that Frankenstein Trump was not his first monster creation. GOP had created the Cuban twins Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz—one he adored, the other he despised. Both hated their most recent brother-creation and vowed to destroy him for the sake of their father.

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

But Frankenstein Trump just poked them both in the eyes and laughed in their faces while Dr. GOP Frankenstein sobbed over the monster he had assembled. The Doc told me of a plan to make a multimillion-dollar assault against Frankenstein Trump by carpet bombing Florida, Illinois, and Ohio with a ruthless ad blitz to stop the monster from winning the Republican nomination. I laughed because even I knew it was too little too late. I could hear the voice of Alex Castellanos (a veteran media consultant) blowing in the wind, who had attempted an earlier “Stop Frankenstein Trump” assault and failed: “A fantasy effort to stop Trump. . . exists only as the denial stage of grief.”

Cartoon used by permission: Bill Day, Cagle Cartoons

Dr. GOP left my ship when we pulled into the Harbor of Sanity, and we haven’t spoken face-to-face since. Every once and awhile I hear voices blowing in the wind mingled with screams coming from the hills. The monster keeps screaming, “I win, I win—losers,” and tepidly taunting his haters with comments like “I won’t disavow the KKK, OK” as he shouts to his hyped-up village followers: “I WILL MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN,” as the villagers raise their pitch forks and rifles in salute to him: “Frankenstein, Frankenstein, you’re our man—if you can’t save us, no one can!” And if I listen carefully, I hear the blood-curdling screams of Dr. GOP whose soul the creature has fractured and is devouring inch by inch—bit by bit.

Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

***

“CAPTAIN JANE WALTON’S ‘SELAH’” (AHA) MOMENT

I am discovering that as I go about my daily life, praying that the Almighty God will protect my country from the demon that Dr. GOP has wrought, I wonder how many lives he will devour before finally being destroyed. Recently one evening, as I double-checked to see that all the doors in my home were barred against the invasion of this monster, I saw a news conference from his lair—Mar-a-Lago. There Frankenstein Trump stood in all his glory—beating his chest and crowing his victory over his creator, Dr. GOP. It was a sight to behold, but nothing was more cringe-worthy than seeing the chubby-ass monster he had enslaved—Governor Chris Christie. There the Governor of New Jersey stood—in invisible chains, silently screaming—looking just as one should look when one has sold one’s soul to bask in the presence of an evil entity. It was then I heard a rumor that the Grand Pooh-bah of the Republican party, Mitt Romney, thinks that “Donald Trump is a phony, a fraud” and that he’s “playing the American public for suckers” and “under Trump, America would cease to be a shining city on a hill.” But all that did was confuse me. Wasn’t Romney the “good Mormon” man who had basked in the glory of Frankenstein Trump’s embrace just four years ago? Didn’t this Mormon man of God—an elder in his church—say that “Having his [Trump’s] endorsement is a delight . . .” That he was “honored and pleased” and that it “meant a great deal to have his [Trump’s] endorsement?” Now Romney planned to put on a robe made from a profile in courage to come to the town square, leading a mob to try and kill the monster.

All I could think of as a single tear slid down my left check: “Oh, Dr. GOP, what hath thou wrought, what have you done? You have sold our American soul to the Devil!”

“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?”― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“It’s becoming obvious that supporting or not supporting [Trump] isn’t a political choice. It’s a moral choice. The man is evil.”—Tweet by Stuart Stevens, top adviser to Mitt Romney’s presidential campaign in 2012

“Mr. Trump’s character is antithetical to many of the qualities evangelicals should prize in a political leader: integrity, compassion and reasoned convictions, wisdom and prudence, trustworthiness, a commitment to the moral good. . . . Why a significant number of evangelicals are rallying round a man who exposes them as hypocrites is difficult to fathom.”—Peter Wehner, The New York Times

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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